


By His Cover

by robinwritesallthethings



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cancer, Death, Drinking, F/M, Guilt, Homelessness, Infidelity, Injury, Judgmental Assholes, Language, Medication, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Romance, Scary Movies, Self-Insert, Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-13 21:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11768892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwritesallthethings/pseuds/robinwritesallthethings
Summary: Robin Ballard is the CEO of a very successful company. When she meets Negan, both of their lives change dramatically.





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan saves Robin’s life. She wants to return the favor.

“Martin, we’re doing it, and that’s the end of the discussion,” I order firmly, glancing up at the crosswalk as I hold my phone to my ear. I snort as he replies. “Why? Because I’m the CEO, that’s why! One of the perks of being in charge is that I can do what I want. It’s a good cause, and this is the last time we’re going to talk about it.”

It takes everything I have not to hang up on him as he continues to protest. Martin isn’t the only board member opposed to being involved in charity efforts, but he’s certainly the most adamant. His general tactic is to wear someone down until they give in. I’m not going to budge; I never have before, and if I start now, he’ll take advantage of it. I’ve worked hard to prove myself, and I’m not going to give up because of an asshole like him.

The crosswalk changes and I start to move across the street. I’m barely paying attention, so I don’t register the roar of the car, or the deep voice behind me that yells, “Look out!”

My phone falls from my hand as someone grabs me from behind and yanks my body sideways. I gasp as the same deep voice growls, “Fucking fuck!” into my ear as we lurch back onto the sidewalk and come to rest against the building behind us.

For a moment, I’m still. Then I start to shake, breathing hard, gazing after the car in complete shock. It blew right through the intersection, and it would have hit me for sure if I hadn’t been pulled out of the way.

I feel hands rubbing my upper arms vigorously as I quiver. “You’re okay,” my mysterious savior promises. “Just a little worked up. You’ll be all right.”

Before I can turn and look, a man in an expensive trenchcoat with a shiny leather briefcase stops and stares at me, clearly alarmed. “Ma’am, is he hurting you?” he wonders, glaring over my shoulder.

My forehead crinkles in confusion. “Hurting me? No, he’s not hurting me. Why do you ask?”

He laughs hoarsely. “Are you kidding? Look at him!”

Now I do turn so I can finally see the person who rescued me. My heart sinks as I realize why the stranger is so derisive.

The man holding me is clearly homeless. His hair and beard are untrimmed and just a little too long, as well as greasy. He’s wearing glasses with thick black frames, but one temple is being held on by a crude knot of tape. His clothes were nice once, but now they’re ragged, and he’s wearing several layers. The top layer is a black leather jacket that’s cracked and worn, and there’s a faded red scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. He’s only got one leather glove on, and it’s cracked too.

Underneath all of that, though, I can see that he has strong, defined features and intense hazel eyes. There’s a faint scar on his cheek. His hair and beard are a rich, dark brown that’s streaked through with a lovely shade of silver. They’re the kind of features you’d notice on any man you looked at carefully enough.

The problem is that no one wants to look at someone like him. Whatever happened, plenty of people think it makes him unworthy of any attention.

I’m sure I look exactly like most of the people who walk past him every day. Wealthy, snobby, dismissive.

But he saved me anyway.

His face twists in pain. My eyes travel down his body, checking for injuries. When I reach his feet, I gasp. His boots were sturdy at one point, I’m sure, but now the soles are practically gone and the tops are full of holes. One foot is swollen. “That car ran over your foot!” I exclaim.

He grimaces. “I’ll be all right,” he mutters, shrugging. “Are you feeling better? You were shaking.”

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” I murmur, digging in my bag. My work phone is still lying in the intersection, and I can tell from here that it’s completely wrecked. I pull out my personal phone and press a few buttons, putting it to my ear.

“Ma’am?” I whirl, staring at the stranger, who I’d already completely forgotten about.

“I’m all right,” I answer him curtly. “You can go.” He looks over my shoulder again suspiciously, but does what I say.

My phone clicks. “Yes, I need a car at the intersection of 82nd and Lincoln as fast as possible, please. We’ll be driving to the ER first. Thank you.” I hang up and give my attention back to the man who saved me.

“Well, I should get out of your hair,” he stammers. “Good luck at the ER. You’re probably fine, but you should get checked out.”

He tries to edge down the wall away from me, but I grab his leather jacket in my fist and keep him still. “The ER’s not for me,” I explain. “It’s for you.”

He quickly shakes his head. “I can’t go to the ER. I don’t have any health insurance. Or money.”

“They still have to treat you,” I point out. “And besides, it’s on me. The only reason you got hurt was because you helped me.”

He shakes his head again. “I can’t accept that.”

I take his hands in mine. He tries to pull away, but my fingers tighten around his and I don’t let him. “Please,” I beg. “I could be dead right now, and I’m not because of you. You deserve something for your kindness.”

His eyes are wide and sincere as he gazes at me. “Saving someone’s life isn’t kindness. It’s just the right thing to do.”

My phone pings and the car I ordered pulls up. “Come with me,” I urge him softly, digging in my purse with one hand for a card. I hand it to him. “If you’re worried about who I am, that’s me. Robin Ballard.”

He runs his thumb over the delicate paper. “Ms. Robin Ballard,” he reads. “CEO of One Brain at a Time.” He pauses. “Education?” he inquires. The look on his face is wistful.

I nod. “Yes. We’re involved in a variety of ventures. I’ll be happy to tell you all about them. In the car. Please get in.”

He finally relents. “Okay.” He inhales sharply as I put my arm around him, guiding him to the curb.

“Try to keep your weight off of your foot,” I say gently as I help him onto the seat. I slide in next to him as he shifts self-consciously.

“I’ll get your car all dirty,” he observes quietly. “And I smell bad.”

He’s not wrong, but obviously I’m not going to mention it. “The car can be cleaned, and you don’t smell bad,” I reply soothingly.

“You’re lying.” His eyes flick to mine and I smile comfortingly.

“Well, being nice doesn’t cost anything,” I assure him nonchalantly. He finally smiles, and I see that he has incredible dimples hidden just underneath the edges of his beard. “Do you have a name?” I ask softly, reaching out and taking his hand again as the car starts to move.

He hesitates for a moment, then sighs, squeezing my hand in his.

“I’m Negan.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin takes Negan to the ER and encounters some difficulties getting him treatment.

I keep holding Negan’s hand as we drive to the ER. I can tell he’s uncomfortable in the car, and I want him to feel safe.

I glance down at his foot. His sock is dirty, but I can still tell that he’s bleeding. “How does that feel?” I ask worriedly.

He shrugs. “It’s hard to tell,” he answers hesitantly. “These days, everything hurts.” He bites his lip after the admission, as if he regrets saying it.

I put my free hand on his cheek and turn his face to me. “I’m so sorry, Negan,” I whisper.

He shakes his head mournfully. “Don’t be sorry for me, Ms. Ballard. I deserve it.” He looks out the opposite window as I process that comment.

“Call me Robin,” I insist, reaching for his face again. He sighs and turns; when he looks at me this time, I realize that his eyes are wet. “Negan, you don’t deserve this. Nobody deserves this.”

He presses his chapped lips together into a thin line. “You don’t know what I did.”

“I don’t have to know. Whatever it was, it doesn’t mean that you deserve this.”

Before he can protest again, we pull up in front of the ER. “Let me get you a wheelchair,” I tell him. “Wait here.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “I don’t need a wheelchair,” he assures me quietly. “I can walk.”

I think about pushing the issue, but he strikes me as a stubborn man. I know the type; I’m stubborn in my own way, after all. So I open the door and step out, making sure he leans against me again when he follows.

We stop at the desk. The woman behind it raises her eyebrows as she stares cautiously at Negan. “Who’s being treated?” she finally inquires, directing her question at me.

“Negan is,” I respond, gesturing to him with my free hand.

“Does he have insurance?” she continues bitterly.

“I’m sure he can answer any questions you have,” I reply coolly, already annoyed.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” she retorts bluntly. “People like him come in here all the time and they can’t pay.”

“What do you mean by people like him?” My voice is stern.

“You know.”

“No, I don’t. You’ll have to tell me.” I stare at her until she flushes and gulps.

“Homeless. No insurance. No money. It’s a waste of time.”

I raise my eyebrows in shock. “This is a hospital, ma’am. Your job is to treat people who need your help, not to make money. And it’s illegal for you to refuse treatment.”

She rolls her eyes. “Are you one of those bleeding heart activists?”

I am livid, though I’m doing my best to hide it, and it leads me to do something I wouldn’t usually do.

I pull my weight.

“Who I am, ma’am, is the CEO of a very large company in this city.” I slam my card down on the counter in front of her. “I also happen to be friends with Dr. Halsey, who runs this hospital. I can make your life very, very difficult. So why don’t you just do the bare minimum required of you and tell me what I have to do to get this man medical attention?”

She blanches and pushes a clipboard at me hurriedly. “I’ll make sure someone sees you as soon as possible, Ms. Ballard. Just have your friend fill that out, please.”

I take the clipboard. “Thank you,” I say demurely, carefully leading Negan over to a chair and helping him sit down.

He watches me in awe as I sit beside him and hand him the form. He’s looking at me so intently that I finally blush and glance down. “Sorry,” I apologize softly. “I usually try not to do that, but I don’t like it when people suck.”

Negan chuckles as he starts writing. “You don’t have to apologize. That was fucking awesome.” My blush deepens. “Do you really know that doctor?” he asks curiously.

“I met him at a fundraiser I sponsored. I wouldn’t exactly say we’re friends, but he’d definitely kiss my ass if he saw me again.” I point at the hospital directory on the wall and Negan follows my finger. “See that?”

He squints and pushes his wobbly glasses up on his nose. “Ballard Center for Cancer Research?”

I shrug. “I donated it. They insisted on naming it after me. It’s a little ostentatious, to be honest, but I would have felt bad arguing about it.”

He stares at me for a moment. I know what he’s thinking. I’m much richer than he thought, and far richer than any person deserves to be.

“Finish filling out your form,” I urge him gently, taking out my phone and texting our driver a list of items I want him to pick up while we’re busy in the ER. He sends me an affirmative message back and promises to return in an hour.

I’m not surprised when the Head of Orthopedic Surgery shows up several minutes later and asks us to a private room. She insists that Negan use a wheelchair, which I’m glad for. I take the form and follow him to the room. I don’t want to leave him alone, partially because he’s nervous, but also partially because I think he’ll try to bolt on me if he gets the chance.

I fill out my information on the bottom of the form as he’s checked over since I’m paying. My heart wrenches as I see what he’s written down in his cramped handwriting. No address. No phone number. No employment. No emergency contact. I can’t help but wonder what happened to him. What did he do that he thinks entitles him to this treatment?

I wonder if he’s a veteran. Sadly, a lot of homeless people are. But I realize that he hasn’t checked that box on the form, and for some reason, I don’t think he’s the type to lie.

Luckily, his foot isn’t broken. A few of his toes are, but the foot itself is only fractured. The doctor tells him to rest and ice his foot, and to keep it wrapped and elevated when possible. She doesn’t think he’ll need surgery, but his broken toes need to be taped and will probably take at least six weeks to heal.

He listens and agrees to everything she says, even though I know he won’t be able to take care of himself properly if left on his own.

I’ve already decided that I’m not going to let that happen.

She gives him a decent supply of tape and a wrap for his foot, along with a set of crutches so he can walk more easily and keep his weight off of his leg while he heals. She hands me a prescription for pain medication and tells me I can fill it at the pharmacy downstairs. As Negan slips his battered sock and shoe back on, I thank her profusely.

“Use those,” I order Negan firmly, nodding at the crutches. “Let’s go down to the pharmacy and get your pain meds.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need the meds. You’ve done more than enough.”

“No, I haven’t,” I disagree. “Come on.” He doesn’t argue. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s just decided that I can’t be argued with, or if he’s in enough pain to not want to push it. Either way, I’m glad he’s listening.

I get his prescription filled at the pharmacy, then we stop by billing so I can pay right away. I don’t want the cost of this visit hanging over his head. My phone dings as I’m paying, letting me know that the driver is back.

Negan follows me to the exit. He finally speaks again, tugging on my sleeve gently to get me to pay attention to him. “I’ll be fine now,” he promises. “You don’t have to trouble yourself any further. Thank you for your generosity.”

I turn to face him, squeezing his arm and reaching up to touch his cheek. “You’re welcome, Negan. But you’re not any trouble, and I’m not even close to done yet. So hush and get back in the car.”

“Where are we going?” he wonders, not moving.

“You’re coming home with me, and you’re staying until your foot heals. You need to take care of it properly, and you can’t do that on the street or in a shelter.”

Negan starts to shake his head. “You can’t do that, Robin. You can’t. She said six weeks, at least. I can’t impose for that long. I’m not worth the time and effort.”

“You know, there are going to be rules since you’re staying,” I inform him. “And the first rule is that you don’t get to talk about yourself like that.”

He bows his head and gives in again. “All right.” I help him into the car, taking his crutches and handing them to him once he’s seated, then slide in beside him.

“The items you requested are packaged in the front seat, ma’am,” the driver tells me politely. “Home?”

“Yes, please. Thank you very much.” I turn my attention back to Negan. He has his eyes closed and he’s biting his lip. “Are you in pain?” I ask him gently.

“Yes,” he answers simply. His voice is low and hurt.

“We’ll be home soon,” I assure him. “You can shower and clean up while I make dinner, and then you can have some of your medication and we’ll wrap your foot like the doctor said.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll feel better soon,” I soothe him, pulling him down so he can rest his head on my shoulder. I can tell he wants to pull away; he’s still self-conscious about his appearance and smell. But after a moment, he settles against me and sighs.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever really feel better again,” he admits softly.

Impulsively, I press a kiss to his forehead. He gasps as I run my fingers through his hair comfortingly, but he doesn’t move.

I promise myself that I will make him feel better.

I don’t care what it takes.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin takes Negan to her home and makes him dinner.

It takes us some time to arrive at my home. I like living outside of the city, and I don’t really have a neighborhood. My house, which I had built here, is a stylized log cabin of sorts. It’s the place I’ve always dreamed of; I love it and it suits me.

Negan seems surprised when he sees it. It’s certainly not as big or as ostentatious as it could be, considering my means. It has a master bedroom, a guest bedroom, a home office, and all of the other rooms you might expect in any average house. The porch is enclosed; I use it to do yoga every morning and evening when I can find the time. There’s a fire pit outside for warmer nights, and the lake behind the house sparkles as the sun sets.

I smile at him as I get out of the car, opening the front door to grab the bags the driver picked up for me, reaching into my purse to grab him a very generous tip. When I hand it to him and he counts it, he stammers, “Ma’am, please. I appreciate it, but this is far too much. This is more than the car cost for the time you had it.”

“I’m aware, and it’s not too much,” I reply firmly. “You were very accommodating.” He looks at me uncertainly, but the look on my face clearly leaves no room for questions.

“Thank you very much, ma’am. Do you want help carrying your things in?”

I shake my head. “No, thank you. We’ll be fine. You have a wonderful night.”

“You too, ma’am.” He waits until Negan is out of the car, checks one more time to make sure we’ve left nothing behind, and then drives off.

Negan leans on his crutches and stares up at the house. “I’m beginning to see why it’s so hard to say no to you,” he observes. He nods up the small hill my house sits on. “I thought it would be bigger.”

“It’s just me. I don’t need a huge amount of space. Honestly, it’s probably still too much.” I gesture to it with my head. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” I help him up the walk and onto the steps, moving slowly until we get to the front door. I open it, flicking on the lights, illuminating the kitchen and living room.

Negan looks around, his eyes wide. “It’s beautiful,” he says quietly.

“Thank you.” I set one bag down in the kitchen, keeping the others with me. “Come on. Let me show you where you can clean up. I’m sure you’re eager to.” I lead him to the guest bathroom, which has a full enclosed shower, and then I hesitate. “Would you prefer a shower or a bath? If you’d like a bath, you can use the master bathroom.”

“I’d prefer a shower, thank you,” he admits softly, leaning his crutches against the wall. I set the rest of the bags down on the wide marble counter and start to unpack them.

“I think I got everything you might need. If not, let me know and I’ll see if I have it, or we can get it tomorrow.” He watches as I carefully place bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in the shower, along with shaving cream and a nice set of razors so he can shave if he wants to.

“All of that is for me?” He looks uncomfortable again.

I nod, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “It’s all right, Negan. Please don’t feel bad about it. I want to take care of you, all right?” I grab some clothes out of the other bag, setting them on the counter too. “I had to guess your sizes. I hope everything fits.” I pull a pair of generic reading glasses out of the same bag; they look just like the ones he’s wearing, only new. “If you have a prescription, we can get that filled tomorrow too. I hope these will do for now.”

He stares at everything as I lay out lotion, nail clippers, shears, a toothbrush, and toothpaste for him as well. I hope I’ve thought of everything; I made the list on the fly, so I might have missed something. When I look back at him, he’s clearly more distressed than before, so I move over to him and take his hands. “Negan, what is it?”

“You can’t do this,” he insists. He actually sounds more afraid than anything else. “It’s too much, and I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it. I can’t have good things, Robin, I can’t have good things, they just get taken away, they get taken away and I get punished. You should just let them punish me. I’m being punished, Robin, and if you keep helping me, something bad will happen. You’ll get hurt.” He tugs on my hands, but I hold him tight.

“Negan, shh,” I soothe him. “Shh, shh. It’s all right, Negan. Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m here because of you, not in spite of you. Shh.” He’s whimpering, so I pull him into my arms, holding him gently until he stops. I tilt my head and look up at him. “Who’s punishing you, Negan?” I wonder quietly.

He shrugs mournfully. “God? Fate? Karma? I don’t know. But something is.” He doesn’t say more, and I don’t press him.

Instead, I reach up and cradle his cheek in my hand. My heart twists in my chest; I have never seen anyone look as sad as Negan looks right now, and I wish there was more I could do. He stares at me, his eyes widening in shock when I stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He holds me tightly, shaking just a little.

“Negan,” I murmur, “I don’t know what happened to you, and I’m not going to ask. If you want to tell me, I’ll listen, but I don’t want you to feel obligated. But I don’t have to know what happened to know that you don’t deserve to be punished. I understand fear, Negan. I do. But you can’t let it control you. I am just fine. Nothing is going to happen to me. And you deserve good things. So I want you to clean up, and then we’re going to eat, and then you’re going to get some sleep. You’ll feel better, and you’ll be able to think more clearly. Please?”

For a moment, he’s silent. I wonder if he’s going to protest, but then his arms tighten around me and I realize that he’s just enjoying our closeness. Suddenly, I wonder how long it’s been since another person has really touched him. I know how comforting it can be to be touched in just the right way. I don’t get it enough either.

So I just hold him until he finally sighs and lets go.

“Being clean would be nice,” he acknowledges. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeat reassuringly. “There are clean towels, and you can use as much hot water as you want; I’m going to grab a quick shower too, but I won’t be long. I can wash your clothes; just put them in the hamper there.” I gesture to it and he smiles ruefully.

“I’m afraid most of them aren’t worth saving. A garbage bag might be more appropriate.” He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously.

“I can get you one if you’d like,” I offer gently. “But anything you want to keep, we can work with.”

He thinks for a moment and then unties the red scarf from around his neck. “I’d like to keep this,” he requests. “It’s… special to me.”

I nod. “Would you like to put it in yourself?”

“Would that be all right?”

“Of course.”

He follows me to the machine and chooses a cycle after I explain the settings. Once I start the washer, I lead him back to the bathroom. “I’ll leave the door open, if that’s all right,” I tell him. “Just call for me if you need me.”

He nods. “Thank you, Robin. I wish there was more I could say.”

“You’re welcome, Negan. And thank you is more than enough.” He nods and I leave him alone to get cleaned up.

I take a quick shower, just enough to wash the day off, then quickly towel my hair dry before throwing on yoga pants and a sports bra. As an afterthought, I pull a white t-shirt on too; I don’t want Negan to feel awkward.

As I walk back to the kitchen, I tentatively stick my head into the bathroom. “Negan?” I call. The shower is completely steamed up, but he cracks the door and sticks his head out. “Sorry for interrupting,” I apologize, “but I realized that I didn’t ask if you were allergic to anything, or if there are any foods you don’t like.”

He blinks and stares at me for a moment. “No allergies,” he finally answers. “And I’m not picky. Never was, even before.” He pauses. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since anyone’s asked me to make a choice.”

“No, that’s all right. I just wanted to make sure. Go back to your shower and I’ll get everything started.”

I assume that Negan is going to be in the shower for a bit, so I set to work making the dinner I’d already had planned for tonight. I dice onions, celery, carrots, and pancetta, getting them going in a pan before I start to roll out pasta dough so it has time to rest. Once that’s done, I add fresh ground lamb to the vegetables, glad that the driver was able to find everything I asked for. Good food is one of my most sincere pleasures, and I want to give Negan a fantastic meal.

The pasta dough isn’t ready yet, but I put the water on, salting it heavily, then pull a crusty loaf of bread out of one of the bags I brought in, making a quick spread for it out of butter, olive oil, garlic, salt, and parsley before getting it into the oven. I add red wine vinegar and crushed tomatoes to the sauce and let it start to simmer.

While the sauce reduces, I carefully transfer Negan’s scarf to the dryer, then clean his crutches as I wait for everything to be ready. I make a quick salad from herbs and greens with a simple vinaigrette, then throw the pasta in to cook.

I’m tossing the pasta in the sauce when Negan finally wanders into the kitchen. As I turn and set the pan on the counter to dish it out onto plates, I stop for a moment, unable to keep from staring at him.

He’s trimmed his hair. It’s a little clumsy and still a bit long, but he makes it work. His beard is now neatly cropped against his face, highlighting the shape of his jaw and cheekbones. His hair is still damp and curling from the shower, and he runs his hand through it nervously as he slips on his glasses.

He’s chosen to wear a thin set of lounge pants and a t-shirt, and his body is even more attractive than I originally thought. His arms are covered in beautiful dark tattoos, and the effect is incredibly alluring against his slightly dark skin.

I realize that I’ve been staring far longer than is polite when Negan blushes. My face gets warm too and I giggle nervously. “I’m sorry.” My voice is sheepish. “The difference is just striking.”

He smiles. “I know. I don’t mind you staring.” He gestures to everything. “Can I help? It, um, smells really good.”

“There’s nothing else to do. It’s ready. Sit down.” I twirl pasta out of the pan and onto the plates. “You must be hungry. How’s your foot? Should you be walking on it? I cleaned your crutches.”

“It’s all right for now. I should wrap it after dinner.” He sits on one of the bar stools at the counter, his eyes widening appreciatively as I set a plate of pasta in front of him.

“Don’t wait for me,” I tell him gently, reaching out and squeezing his hand briefly before turning to get the bread out of the oven. I grab a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and get two glasses, pouring before I turn and start to cut the bread. A few minutes later, I’m setting the bread basket down beside our plates, along with the salad and bowls for it.

I dish out the salad and distribute bread as Negan takes a drink of water. I can tell that he’s trying very hard to eat slowly and be polite. I twirl pasta around my own fork and smile at him. “It’s okay. Just don’t eat too fast. I don’t want you to hurt yourself or get sick.”

Negan takes a big bite of salad and bread, smiling at me after he swallows. “This is the best meal I’ve ever had. Is this pasta homemade?”

I grin back at him, nodding. “I made it while you were in the shower. Normally I’d bake my own bread too, but I didn’t have the time.”

He snorts. “Yeah, you’re a real fucking slacker.” I laugh loudly and he immediately gets flustered. “Sorry. I swear too much.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I swear a lot too, actually. You just haven’t heard it yet.” He takes another bite of pasta and smiles at me shyly.

“You’re very kind,” he declares softly. I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me, reaching out to grab my hand. “Robin, I mean it. You are. I can’t even explain how kind you are.” He puts his fork down, scooting closer and taking my other hand in his too.

“Most people don’t even look at me anymore,” he clarifies quietly. “If they do, they laugh or make rude comments. And I believe I deserve that, though I know you don’t like me saying it. But you… I really don’t understand. You have no reason at all to be so nice to me, even with what I did. Most people would have yelled and screamed at me to get away, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, squeezing his hands tight. “People shouldn’t treat you like that. They shouldn’t treat anybody like that.”

“You’re a fucking mystery, you know?” He grimaces at his language again, but I’m smiling. It’s actually cute when he swears, which I suppose is odd, but it is. “I mean, I could tell you were, you know, rich. But you’re rich enough to personally donate a whole wing to a hospital. You’re rich enough that you don’t blink when you give out hundreds of dollars in tips. But you went out of your way to help a stranger. You make your own food. You haven’t judged me at all, and you’re doing everything you can to make me comfortable. And I know you’re grateful for what I did, but that’s not a good enough reason for all of it.” He finally stops, reluctantly letting my hands go and starting to eat again.

I do the same for a moment, mulling over his words. Finally, I reply, “You’re very flattering, Negan.”

He shrugs. “It’s just the truth. You don’t fucking make sense.”

I chuckle. “I never have, to be honest. The simplest answer to your question, I suppose, is that I remember what it’s like to struggle. My family wasn’t wealthy; I wasn’t born into this life. I was never without a home, thankfully, but I came close, and there were plenty of necessary things I had to do without. And I remember the assumptions people made too. Assumptions that were unfair. So I try not to assume anything.”

He's cleaned his plate by now. Normally I would save some of the pasta for leftovers, but I divided it between us this time, giving him more than I gave myself. We also finished the salad; there’s only a few pieces of bread left.

“Did you get enough, Negan?”

He smiles and nods. “I’m very satisfied,” he promises. “Thank you. It was wonderful.” He carefully sips the water still left in his glass and I move over to my purse, pulling out his medication. I read the dosage on the bottle and hand him two pills.

“Here. This will help with your foot. Why don’t you pick a movie and we can sit on the couch? I’ll wrap it for you.” I stack the dishes in the sink and fill it with hot, soapy water. I can wash everything up later, but this will make it easier.

Negan obediently swallows his pills and moves into the living room slowly, keeping his weight off of his foot. He sinks into the corner of the plush sectional couch and sighs happily; I smile again, grabbing the things I need for his foot and sitting down next to him, handing him the remote after I pull up my Amazon account.

“Pick anything you’d like from the list. And give me your foot.”

He shifts, flipping through the large number of selections. I’m a huge movie and television buff, and since money isn’t an object, I’ve amassed a large library. I start to gently untape his toes, mindful of how bruised his foot is. I really do hope wrapping it will help.

“You like horror movies,” Negan notices.

I laugh. “I do.” I scoot a little closer to him and nudge his shoulder. “Don’t worry. If you’re afraid, I’ll protect you.” I wink and he chuckles.

“This is my favorite one.” He hits play for _A Nightmare on Elm Street_.

“Mine too,” I agree, beaming at him. “Hold still, all right?”

He does. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that he’s not watching the movie.

He’s watching me.

I find myself blushing as I use a rubbing alcohol swab to clean his foot, being as delicate as I can so I don’t hurt him. My intention to care for him after he got injured helping me has never wavered, but I hadn’t expected to like him as much as I do.

He’s extraordinarily handsome, honestly more handsome than any man I’ve ever met. That’s not enough to sway me, of course. But he’s also kind, sweet, humble, and appreciative. I don’t know what he’s been through to make him feel like he deserves whatever’s happened to him. Maybe he’s changed because of it, but what I see now is certainly not someone who deserves the amount of pain he’s in.

Not that I’m going to do anything about it, of course. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of him, and I wouldn’t want him to think he couldn’t say no because I would stop helping him.

I retape his toes before wrapping his foot like the doctor showed me. He winces a bit, but doesn’t say anything; he knows that it needs to be tight. “How does that feel?” I inquire when I’m finished.

“It feels good. Thank you very much, Robin.” He reaches out and carefully smooths an errant lock of hair over my ear. When I look at him, I realize that he’s crying. I reach up, carefully wiping his tears away with my thumbs. “I just never thought anyone would be kind to me again,” he confesses. “I still don’t think I deserve it, but I’ve wanted it.”

I stretch his leg out on the couch so he can keep his foot up, swinging my own legs over his lap. My foot cracks as I move and I wince. “Ow. Shit,” I curse. “Sorry.”

He glances at my feet, concerned. “Are you okay, Robin?”

“Have you seen the shoes I wear?” I joke. “My feet always hurt. I’ll be all right.”

“Why wear heels, then?”

I shrug. “It’s sort of expected for women to wear heels in my job. And I like the way they click on the floor. Makes me sound intimidating.” I wink and he laughs.

His long fingers brush the top of my feet gently. “May I?” he requests. I nod carefully, gasping a little as he tucks me further into his side, putting one long arm around my shoulders. I lean against his chest gratefully as he starts to gently massage my foot with one hand.

It’s my turn to sigh. The sigh quickly turns into a moan as Negan expertly works my feet. He gently, but clearly reluctantly, shifts me so I’m leaning back against the couch cushion, allowing him to use both hands.

“That feels really, really good,” I inform him.

He grins. “I know.” I study his face for a moment, noticing that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which stay sad.

I wish he would talk to me, but I’m not going to make him. It will be better if he makes the decision on his own, if he ever wants to.

I’m quiet for the next few minutes as he keeps massaging my feet. I watch him, listening to the movie in the background; I’ve seen it so many times I’ve got it memorized anyway.

He watches me right back.

When he’s done, he pulls me back into his side. “You look tired,” he muses.

“Long day,” I yawn, unable to resist snuggling into his body.

“Watch the movie with me,” he urges. “You can fall asleep on me if you want. It’s… nice to touch someone again.”

“I like it too,” I reveal quietly, wrapping my arms around his middle and resting my head on his chest. He puts his arms around me, encasing me in warmth, and before I know it, I’m asleep.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan tells Robin what happened to him.

I wake with a start when Negan thrashes against me. Reflexively, I grab him, trying to get him to stay still. I shake my head to clear it, getting my bearings. “Negan! Negan, wake up! Negan! Negan!”

His eyes fly open and he looks at me in shock. I brush his sweaty hair out of his face as he breathes hard. He’s clearly confused about where he is, which isn’t surprising.

When he finally realizes, he stills, and then he bursts into tears.

My lips tremble and one of my hands flies to my mouth as he slumps forward onto my shoulder, his body wracked with the most intense sobs I’ve ever seen or heard. I put my arms tightly around him, holding on, pressing my cheek against his and whispering soothingly into his ear.

“Shh, Negan. Shh, shh. You’re all right. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. It’s okay. You’re okay.” I rock him back and forth as he keeps crying, his arms holding me so tight that I can barely breathe. I have no idea what else I can do to make him feel better, so I just keep holding him and whispering, hoping it will calm him down.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually he quiets. My shirt is soaked in his tears, and he’s still shaking, but he seems a little steadier. I move my head, brushing my nose against his. His eyes are red, and he just looks lost. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, trying to push away.

I hold him close, trying to comfort him. “Don’t apologize, Negan. Just tell me what you need.”

He takes a deep breath and thinks. “Can I have my scarf?” he requests timidly. I nod.

“Of course. Come with me.” I stand, stripping my shirt off so he can use it to wipe his face since it’s already wet anyway. I take his hand, leading him down the hallway. He stops in the bathroom to splash water on his face and I give him a moment alone before he joins me at the dryer, where I retrieve his scarf.

He loops it around his neck several times, knotting it tightly before he raises his eyes to me. “I’ve never told anybody everything that happened to me. Can I tell you?”

“Of course you can, Negan. Come with me.” I put my arm around his waist, guiding him into my bedroom and to my bed.

For a moment, he can’t help but stop and admire the view. The bed is enormous and sunk into the floor, and it faces a huge bank of windows that make up the back wall of the room. “We can see through this side of the glass, but no one else on the other side can see in,” I assure him.

He nods mutely, following me to the bed. I throw back all of the forest green bedding and get him into the center of the bed before crawling in beside him, pulling the blankets up over us and cradling his head against my shoulder. ‘Talk whenever you’re ready,” I murmur, stroking his beard comfortingly.

He takes a deep breath, reaching up and brushing his fingers over his scarf before he cups my cheek in his hand, bending my head and making sure he’s staring into my eyes before he speaks. I smile at him gently as he begins.

“This scarf belonged to my wife,” he reveals. “Her name was Lucille. She died a year ago. She had cancer.” He bites his lip, tearing up again. “I watched it tear her apart. There was nothing I could do. She fought as long and as hard as she could, but eventually…” He trails off, collecting himself for a moment, and then he adds, “And it was all my fault, Robin. She got sick because of me.”

“Shh,” I soothe him, shaking my head slightly. “Negan, there’s no way you could have gotten her sick. Why would you say a thing like that?”

“I was a terrible husband,” Negan confesses. “The most terrible husband, Robin. I cheated on her. I had a mistress. I never appreciated her until I realized I might lose her. I didn’t know how much I needed her until she was gone.”

The admission of cheating surprises me. The man I’ve spent the last several hours with certainly doesn’t seem like a man who would do that to anybody. I’ve had my own experiences with cheating, and I think it’s the worst thing someone can do to another person. I won’t tell Negan that, of course, and I don’t think I need to; he seems to understand the gravity of what he did already.

And now I understand why he thinks he’s being punished, and why he assumes that he deserves it.

“I broke it off,” Negan continues. “Once I knew Lucille was sick, I broke it off. I stopped seeing the other woman. But it was too late. It wasn’t enough to save her.” I make him sit up because he’s crying again, grabbing some of the tissues I keep beside the bed and blotting at his face with them. He lets me clean him up and then he goes on.

“After she died, I started drinking. A lot. I showed up thirty minutes late to her funeral, drunk out of my mind. I couldn’t even let her be buried in peace. Her family kicked me out of the funeral and said they didn’t want to talk to me ever again.” He sniffles and I hand him a clean tissue; he blows his nose.

“It wasn’t long after that that I lost everything,” he finishes. “Lucille’s family abandoned me. Then I lost my job teaching and coaching at the local high school. Then my family abandoned me too. I was just too much to deal with. I didn’t deserve their help anyway.”

He sighs and leans back against the headboard, gazing out at the moonlit lake. “I stopped drinking when I lost my house because I couldn’t afford it anymore. Being drunk was better, honestly. It hurt less. But I didn’t want to feel better. I wanted to feel worse. I deserve to feel worse. I was so wrong, Robin. I can’t ever be forgiven for what I did. I killed my wife, and I’m still here, and no amount of punishment will ever, ever, be enough.”

I take a moment to think about my answer. I need the time, to be honest. I’m so angry at the people in his life for just letting this happen to him. I’m sure he wasn’t easy to deal with, but to let him lose everything so he ended up on the street? My family is horrible, but if I showed up on their doorstep with no place to go, they would take me in. They’d make my life awful the whole time I was there, but they’d take me in.

When I’ve collected myself, I swallow carefully before I speak. I want to say what I know he needs to hear. I move, kneeling between his legs and taking his hands in mine. “Look at me, Negan,” I urge him.

He lifts his head and gazes at me. His face is full of shame. “I understand if you want me to go,” he declares softly. “I won’t argue. You’ve given me more than enough.”

“Negan, I don’t want you to go,” I tell him firmly. His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t say anything. “What you did was wrong, Negan,” I confirm quietly. “Obviously, you know that.”

He frowns. “You’re not going to tell me that I didn’t do anything wrong?”

I shake my head. “Not unless you want me to lie to you, and I don’t think you want that.”

“So you think I’m right?” he wonders, sounding relieved. “You think I deserve to suffer.”

I shake my head again. “I didn’t say that, Negan.”

“I… don’t understand,” he says cautiously.

“Then let me ask you this, Negan. What’s the point of punishment?”

He blinks. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he responds.

“Did you ever get punished when you were a kid?”

He manages a bitter chuckle. “All the fucking time.”

I give him a small smile. “All right. What was the point of that punishment? Why were you punished?”

His forehead creases as he slowly ventures, “To make sure that I understood that what I did was wrong so I wouldn’t do it again.”

I nod. “Right.” I wait, hoping he’ll get it on his own.

He does.

“Oh, I see,” he mutters thoughtfully. “You mean that if I understand that what I did was wrong, then the punishment should be over?”

“Exactly. If you’ve learned the lesson, Negan, then punishment is just torture.” His forehead creases more and I move closer to him, settling onto my knees and cupping his face in my hands.

“Negan, I don’t believe that anything or anyone is punishing you. Your wife got sick, not because of what you did, but because illness is a horrible reality of nature. You said that once you realized she was sick, you understood that what you did was wrong. So why would the punishment continue with her death? That was just chance, Negan. And it was an awful outcome, and I’m so, so sorry that you had to go through it.” I’m trying valiantly not to cry, but my eyes are wet.

“I’m even more sorry that you had to go through it alone, Negan. I’m so sorry that everyone abandoned you. They shouldn’t have done that, no matter how difficult you were being. It wasn’t right.” He tries to protest, but I put my fingers over his lips. “I’m not done,” I whisper fervently.

“I understand now why you think you deserve to suffer, Negan. I do. But the only one punishing you now is yourself. It’s time for you to take what you’ve learned and use it to not only make your life better, but to make other lives better too. No one benefits if you let yourself waste away. There’s been enough punishment, Negan. You have to let yourself live again.”

I move my fingers away from his lips so he can answer. He looks torn. I wait, and finally, he raises his head to me with awe in his eyes. “You really believe that, don’t you, Robin?”

“I do,” I reply simply.

Negan’s voice is small when he admits, “I don’t think I know how.”

“Can I give you a suggestion?” He nods, and I brush my fingers over his scarf. “I think you need to talk to your wife, Negan. You never got any closure after what happened. You need to sort out your feelings so you can move forward. I can take you to where she’s buried, Negan. I think it’s important that you go.”

He looks at me. He’s on the verge of crying again. He wipes at his eyes as he gasps, “I’m afraid, Robin. I’m so afraid. I’m afraid of screwing everything up again. I’m afraid of losing people again. I’m afraid that there’s nothing left to fight for.”

“Then why are you still here?” I ask bluntly. “You could have given up a long time ago, Negan. But you’re still here, and that means you’re still fighting. What are you fighting for, if you’re not fighting to survive in the hope that things will get better? It’s okay to be afraid, Negan. I’m always afraid. All the time. Even now that I have more than I ever imagined I would have. You have to make the fear work for you, not against you. I know you can. You just have to try.”

“And you’ll help me?”

I nod. “Of course.”

He wraps his long arms around my waist and pulls me to him. I hold him as tight as I can, pressing my nose into his cheek. “Thank you, Robin,” he sobs. “Thank you so much. I don’t know how I’m ever going to make this up to you.”

I press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to, Negan. I’m offering.” I kiss his cheek again. “Come on,” I urge softly. “Let’s lie down. You need to get some more sleep before tomorrow.”

He lets me pull him down in the bed and pillow his head against my shoulder. I start to soothingly run my fingers through his hair. “I’ll be right here, Negan. I promise. Just relax.” His body is heavy against mine; I can practically feel how weary he is.

I rub his back gently with my other hand until he’s fallen asleep.

I gaze out the window at the stillness of the lake. I’m going to stay awake and make sure he doesn’t have any more nightmares.


End file.
